


Where's Mickey?

by ronans



Series: Prompts [23]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5x08, ?? - Freeform, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, M/M, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:36:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3496952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronans/pseuds/ronans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Your ideal outcome for the Ian/Mickey reunion scene in 5x08 (based on the picture of them in bed). Like what they talk about or don’t or just what you’d like to see happen – <a href="http://southsidemilkovich.tumblr.com/post/112947872449/prompt-your-ideal-outcome-for-the-ian-mickey">Anon</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Where's Mickey?

**Author's Note:**

> idk it's not entirely what the prompt asked for, looking back.... like, the scene of them in the bed isn't really long and they don't say much and agh okay, I hope you enjoy anyway :)

The edge of his vision is still foggy but Fiona’s arms around him are solid and real. Over her shoulder as he hugs her, he can see Debbie grinning and holding a distracted looking Liam. He looks to Debbie’s left. He grips Fiona tighter. He looks to Debbie’s right. He lets Fiona go.

‘Where’s Mickey?’

Debbie swallows and looks down at the ground.

‘Where’s Mickey?’ he repeats, more firmly. ‘I thought Mickey was waiting for me.’

Fiona rubs his arm comfortingly but the touch just feels like thorns grating against his skin. ‘Debbie tried to- Well… You’ll be able to see him soon, okay? We’ll talk to him. We’ll try again.’

‘Yeah,’ Debbie says, smiling again. She walks forward and shifts Liam so she can hug Ian properly. Liam grabs onto Ian’s hoodie and joins in. He wishes he felt warmer from the comfort of his siblings, but all he can feel is the ice burn of Mickey’s absence.

*

He knows that Fiona’s been elected to talk to Mickey because Ian watches her hand his pills over to Debbie. She doesn’t go into too much detail, and Ian figures it’s because she wants to try and cover up where she’s going for Ian’s sake, but he’d be stupid not to know where she’s headed.

He smiles but there’s not much happiness there, more like barely-veiled suspicion. She kisses him on the head before she goes and he feels like a child again.

‘Ian, you think you’re gonna give these meds a go, then?’ Debbie asks sunnily, rattling the orange bottle. Frank sits at the kitchen counter, chewing on leftovers from breakfast and not giving a fuck about his surroundings. Lip – who’d finally turned up – looks on with some interest, but doesn’t intervene. Ian doesn’t know where Carl is, and he hasn’t had a chance to ask.

Although there’s a swirling in his belly making every cell in his body want to protest, Ian smiles and nods, standing up from his seat at the breakfast table. Debbie looks so fucking happy that he almost tells her the truth. He tracks the bottle’s descent from Debbie’s fingers into the palm of his hand and stares down at the pills through the plastic.

‘I gotta go, okay?’ Lip suddenly announces, blinking at Ian like he wants to do something but can’t make himself go through with it. He slaps Ian’s shoulder as he passes and Ian’s whole body jerks with the contact. Lip strides past him and picks up his bag off the sofa, heading out the front door. Debbie looks disappointed, and starts to look even more worried as Frank announces he’s leaving as well, more through actions than words, a brief wave before taking off out the back door with half a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. Debbie's scared to be alone with him.

There’s a silence between Ian and Debbie that’s only filled by the drip of the faucet. Debbie rubs his shoulder and startles him out of his stare-down with the medicine.

‘They’ll make you feel better,’ Debbie says.

‘You don’t know that,’ Ian automatically replies.

She makes a tiny noise in the back of her throat like she’s stuck on what to say and drops her hand. ‘Please, Ian?’

He tongues the pills and Debbie trusts him enough not to check if he’s swallowed them. He wishes he felt more guilty.

‘Shit,’ she mutters, looking at her bare wrist. ‘Gotta find a hairband before going to the gym,’ she tells him, nudging his arm. ‘I gave up on the steroids.’

He wishes he could smile.

As soon as she’s disappeared up the stairs, Ian spits out his tablets into his hand and stares at them with wide eyes. He shifts his gaze to the pill bottle Debbie had left on the counter. It doesn’t take much time at all to empty them out onto the countertop. It takes even less time to sweep them into his palm.

Six steps and he’s standing in front of the toilet door. Two more and he’s inside with the door locked. One more and the toilet seat’s up.

‘I’m not bipolar,’ he mouths as he empties the mound of white tablets into the toilet bowl. They fall from his hand like a toxic flood.

 _Mickey wants you to get help_.

‘Yeah? Well where the fuck is he?’ he asks the pills as they disappear down the u-bend.

*

Fiona’s lecture when she comes home without Mickey just serves to rile him.

 _I’m not Monica, I’m not Monica, I’m not Monica_ , a mantra in his head that he says out loud half of the time in reply to his siblings. Talk of him putting Yev in danger makes him worse, talk of how he’s not in control makes him worse, talk of how Mickey’s not coming to see him just yet makes him worse.

When Fiona goes inside and leaves him to it, he stands up and walks over to their pool. He lies in the dirtied water, surrounded by leaves and deflated inflatables and lets the cold filter through to his bones. He closes his eyes and forgets himself, at least for a moment.

One comment filters through to the front of his brain, and it’s a faint memory even though it only just happened. He hadn’t fully been paying attention and he’s not sure if he regrets that or not.

‘ _Mickey’s not doin’ so good either_.’

*

Night time and Mickey’s still not there. Ian just feels hollow about it now. He’d thought Mickey’d be there but he understood why he wasn’t. He stares at the wall and trails his eyes over the colours on his posters. They don’t seep through into him. He still feels dull. And trapped. And alone.

‘Hey.’

He bites his lip at the sound of his voice. For a second he doesn’t think it’s real. He doesn’t reply, but rolls over, looking towards the door. Mickey’s biting his lip, too, and they stare at each other not knowing what to say. Ian doesn’t know if he’s disappointed about Mickey’s absence up until now, doesn’t know if he’s relieved, doesn’t know if he feels guilty for the fact that Mickey still wants him when he’s acting like this.

‘I’m… Fuck.’

Ian’s eyes follow Mickey as he paces in front of the door. He takes in the bruise on his face, he takes in the bags under his eyes, he takes in the slight catch in his step.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there earlier,’ he mumbles, finally ceasing his movements. Ian gulps and shifts a little more on the bed so he can more easily look at Mickey. Mickey looks unsure for a moment before taking the last few steps over to the bed and dropping to his knees. Mickey’s so close, Ian can see the exact point where his bruise blends back into normal skin colour. He wonders where Mickey got it. Ian reaches out slowly and brushes his thumb along Mickey’s cheek, being careful to avoid pressing too hard or going too close to the cut. Mickey closes his eyes and tilts his head forward slightly.

After a moment, Mickey lets out a soft gasp, like he’s letting go, and surges forward, pressing his lips to Ian’s. Ian’s shocked for a moment before he allows himself to kiss back, closing his eyes but dropping his hand so his only contact with Mickey is where their lips are connected. The kiss isn’t desperate, it’s not intense or heated, it’s just Mickey saying he’s sorry, it’s Mickey saying he’s there.

When Mickey pulls back he wipes a hand down his face like he's collecting himself, wincing slightly when his fingers drag against his scab. It barely takes a second before Mickey’s climbing onto the bed and lying next to Ian, stroking his thumb over the skin of Ian’s arm and pressing his forehead against Ian’s.

‘I’m here now, okay?’ Mickey says, smiling. He’s so close, so, so close and all Ian can do is hold his gaze.

Ian doesn’t feel like he has to say anything, but at the same time it feels like he hasn’t spoken to Mickey in a fucking age. Mickey sighs shakily and shuts his eyes again, carrying on his thumb movements. It’s soothing and starts to patch up the hole in Ian’s chest that was screaming his loneliness.

Ian breathes in. Ian breathes out. He’s not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> And then I'm imagining that the Carl stuff happens after the bedroom scene.  
> I'm sorry if this was really bad - it's 5am and I got this prompt like an hour ago so I wrote it really quickly  
> I just want Ian and Mickey to be as close to happiness as possible, basically... ugh  
> [I'm still taking prompts until the end of March! :)](http://southsidemilkovich.tumblr.com)


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